Saturday, May 19, 2007

Queen of Spades

Queen of Spades

so many pretty snapshots,
smiling faces, eyes locking in loving glances,
all carefully hidden away, locked
in their pretty little box with the silver key.
but away from the musky dusk light,
from under the attic dust,
a dusty, crumpled old shoebox lies,
full of faded magazine clippings
scattered into the fluorescent lights,
all the pretty secrets spilled
like ash into a burning wind,
an empty breeze to cool
the beads of nervous sweat
that aren't collecting on my ashen face.
I sit, nailed in place with my shadow
to the floor; restless, but
unable to escape the omnipresent light -
it follows to the window, through the door.
I cannot hide, so haunted, daunted
by the shadow of the memory
of your blue, piercing eyes.
I can hardly bear to meet them in the photographs
you must notice how I shun you
face to face. my cards are all laid out
upon the table, yet you hold
your poker face.


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